


the roads we passed

by yaskiers



Series: long hair au [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with an unhappy ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Multiple Realities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaskiers/pseuds/yaskiers
Summary: five times jaskier said goodbye, and one time geralt did.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: long hair au [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635463
Comments: 18
Kudos: 143
Collections: long-haired geralt au





	the roads we passed

**Author's Note:**

> can be read as a standalone

1.

He knew he didn’t have long. 

It had taken hold of him, and he knew there was nothing he could do. He could feel it. He could feel himself getting weaker, and it wouldn’t be long until he couldn’t hide it from Geralt anymore. 

He had tried, gods he had tried, but every healer in every town had said the same thing. 

There is no cure for an illness of the heart. 

He didn’t want to die. Though he supposed no one wanted to. It wasn’t fair, he thought. He was 20. He had his whole life ahead of him. He wondered how many others had been stolen from life, grabbed by the hands of fate, before their time. He and Geralt had seen the graves of too many children, their lives ended swiftly and mercilessly by the monsters of the world. 

Then again, this was almost certainly his fault. Of course he had decided to follow a Witcher of all things, and where had it led him? To being cursed to die by an evil old hag. Not that he had let Geralt know. It would only bring him unnecessary pain. 

What would his life have been if he hadn’t approached the Witcher? Would he have gone back to the University, as his mother had urged him? Would he be married somewhere? 

Well, he supposed, there was nothing to be found in dwelling on that which will never happen. He could dream of the life he might’ve had, but what use would that be? 

He was going to die. 

It was time to face it. Lords, his chest ached.

He looked across the camp, at the Witcher. Geralt. Melitele above, he adored him. If he could make one wish come true, it would be that he would never have to leave his side. He belonged there, he had always known it. A bard, set adrift from his small hometown. He hadn’t belonged in the academic world, at Oxenfurt, nor had he been built for the life of a farmer or a merchant. But that first day in Posada, he had known. He had always known. 

He belonged with Geralt of Rivia, as his heart belonged to him. 

And it would destroy him, destroy both of them.

The fire crackled softly, a pot of broth hanging over it, and the golden glow made his Witcher’s eyes shine like the sun. ( _His sun_ ) 

And just like that, he knew. 

It would tear him apart, destroy his very soul, and shred his heart. But he must leave Geralt of Rivia.

If not for his sake, for Geralt’s. 

He was no fool, though he often appeared so. He knew that if Geralt saw him die, saw him succumb to the fragility of humankind, he would never be the same. He would lock himself up in that silver tower he had built in his soul, and he would never allow himself to feel, to _love_ , again. 

Jaskier would not, he could not, allow that to happen. 

He had read poetry from a famous bard when he was a child, the inspiration for the road he had taken. A legacy, the poet had said. The path left behind, the pieces of one’s being that lived on forever. If there was one thing that Jaskier wanted as his legacy, it was Geralt’s happiness. And for Geralt to be happy, he had to break his heart first. 

Fuck. 

When he gave the Witcher the broth, it killed him to know that he was the only person Geralt trusted enough to drink something from without even thinking to check for poison. And here he was, betraying that trust. He hated himself. 

“Here.”

“Hmm.”

The hours passed, the fire died, and Geralt lay down on their bedroll. 

Jaskier waited by what had been the fire. As the hours passed, and Geralt slept soundly, never so much as stirring, he knew it had worked. For a witcher with night terrors that left him screaming Jaskier’s name to sleep so silently, there was no other option.

He rose, as quiet as he could. He gathered his things, slowly, as if to freeze time and save himself. When he was ready, he walked over to his love. His knees shook, and gave way. There he knelt, grieving. For himself, or for Geralt, he didn’t know. 

A tear slid down his cheek as he bent down to press a final kiss to the Witcher’s forehead. His hair was spread out around him like a halo. Ethereal. He had to do this. 

Jaskier stood. 

He turned, and he left. 

“Goodbye, my love. And forgive me.” he whispered into the wind and the cold night as he left. 

His steps grew more and more sure, and yet he could physically feel his heart shattering.

The tears fell, and this time there was no one to wipe them away.

* * *

2\. 

“Go.” The word was harsh and unforgiving, and this time Jaskier knew that he meant it. This wasn’t the begrudging protests put on just for show. 

He was serious. 

“Geralt-” 

“I said go. There’s nothing else to say.” 

“But-” A look cut him off. His icy eyes froze the bard in place, and Jaskier could feel his heart beating like a rabbit’s. Something had to be wrong. 

“Enough. I have tolerated this for long enough. I have no use for an annoying bard with no musical talent. Now leave. Before I make you leave.” 

The Witcher drew his sword, and for the first time in his life, Jaskier felt true fear. 

He had never felt this before, the prickly feeling slowly engulfing his body, his body frozen as he stared into Geralt’s eyes. Sure, others had been scared of Geralt. But never in Jaskier’s life had he thought he would be scared of the Witcher. Eyes he had looked into so many times he had them memorized, their unique color and pattern like a second home to him. He didn’t understand- he couldn’t understand. What had he done? 

Geralt had left for food, and come back, well, different. His movements off, his body awkward. Obviously Jaskier had assumed he was injured, and when he had moved towards him to look for the injury that was probably worse than Geralt was letting on, the idiot, the Witcher had physically flinched back. 

And now, well, he was genuinely scared. Because Geralt wasn’t injured, he wasn’t cursed. He just hated him. 

Maybe sleeping with the Mayor’s wife in the last town had been the final straw. Maybe it had been getting them kicked out of a tavern for getting in a bar fight. 

“Now.” The growl jolted him back into reality, and he forced himself to move. 

Danger. And this time there was no Geralt to protect him.

“If I ever see your face again, I will kill you.” The promise, the treat, shook him to his core. 

It seemed he was truly unwanted everywhere.

_Goodbye._

He left. 

* * *

3\. 

Visiting his hometown had been a grave mistake. In his defence, he hadn’t exactly entered it willingly. He had been delirious, and barely hanging on to Roach as Geralt had ridden into town. The problem arose as he did. 

His relationship with his family was… complicated at best. Dangerous at worst. 

To say they had not been exactly thrilled to find him with the stable boy had been an understatement. This was only made worse by the fact that he had ignored his station and his duties as the only son and heir to the Pankratz estate, and had run off to Oxenfurt to become a lowly bard. 

He was quite sure that his mother had shed many tears over his fate, but to be honest he wasn’t all that bothered by it. 

He had been immediately recognized by the healer, and the two of them had been all but forced to the family estate. If Geralt had not been so desperate for help (the stab wound was pretty bad, he could admit) he would have protested. Likely violently. 

The second he had limped through the gates his mother came running, embracing him so tightly that he thought he might faint. She smelled familiar, and while his family was hard to think about sometimes, he did love them. When they weren’t shaming him constantly. He clutched onto her, probably ruining her dress, but not caring in the slightest. Geralt stood a few paces back, awkwardly staring at the floor. 

Jaskier pried himself away from his mother and stood by the Witcher. 

“Mother, I have someone to introduce you to. This is my… friend, Geralt.” He elbowed Geralt, who jumped. 

“Nice to meet you.” Short and blunt. Very Geralt.

Jaskier appreciated the effort. 

His mother raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. 

“A witcher? Julian-”

“Mother.” His voice was colder this time. “Please.” _Please don’t make me leave again._

She sighed. 

“Come,” she grabbed his arm and gently pulled him in the direction of the mansion. “Dinner is waiting,” she wrinkled her nose in their direction. “And maybe a bath too.”

After dinner, he was pulled aside by his parents. They told him that while they had tolerated his childish whims, running off to be with a Witcher, of all things, was foolish and unacceptable, it was time for this game to come to an end. His disgrace could stain their family for no longer.

The estate was failing, and the fortune of the family was dwindling. 

Their only hope was an arranged marriage. Jaskier’s arranged marriage. 

As he returned to the room that he and Geralt shared, he came to a decision. One that broke his heart. He had been selfish for 20 long years, always doing as he pleased. But he loved his parents and he loved his sisters. To deprive them of their lives, their happiness, for a grand adventure? He may be selfish, but he was not evil. 

And so, he supposed, the answer was clear. 

Sacrifice himself to a life of dreadful normality, married to a woman who he knew in his heart he would never be able to love.

If Geralt noticed anything when he returned, he didn’t show it. They spent the night normally, tangled up together on the bed. It was almost as if nothing had happened, as if they were back in that inn in Temeria. 

Until the sun rose. And Jaskier knew it had not been a nightmare. 

The Witcher left. The bard stayed. He stood by the window of his room and watched the form of the love of his life until it faded into the distance. 

_Goodbye, Geralt._

* * *

4.

One of the fundamental truths that the universe loved to remind Jaskier of was that he was utterly useless. Unworthy, even. It was only cemented in his mind the countless times that Geralt had to save him from a monster, or even worse, a random thug in a tavern. 

He had no true talents other than his words, his music, and what use were they really? 

He couldn’t save anyone with words or a lively tune. And yet he was surrounded by the most powerful people on the Continent.

Geralt of Rivia, the famed Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf. A mutant, a man with unnatural power, whose mastery of the sword was unparalleled. Yennefer of Vengerberg, one of the most powerful mages who walked the earth. A woman who could raze cities and read minds.

They were a love story for the ballads, two powerful, beautiful people brought together by destiny, by fate.

And then there was Jaskier. A simple bard. A human bard. Whose greatest talent was managing to keep a steady note even while drunk. 

Gods, he really was worthless, wasn’t he. 

_In the presence of gods and monsters, what worth is a man?_

It was part of the reason he had never come between Yennefer and Geralt. Because he loved Geralt, and he knew that he was unworthy of him. Geralt deserved someone who could keep up with him, someone who could challenge him. He deserved someone powerful and as immortal as he was. 

Someone who wasn’t Jaskier. 

Every time he saw Geralt, he had to stop himself. Had to hide the love which encompassed his entire being. 

Every word he said to him, every move he made was perfectly calculated to make sure that he never knew. 

It was an endless torture, but a sweet one.

And so the next time they encountered Yennefer, he left. 

He stood outside the tent where they lay together, and whispered his final goodbye to the wind.

It was what Geralt deserved. 

* * *

5\. 

The second he opened his eyes, Geralt knew something was wrong. 

It was too quiet. He was used to hearing the steady beat of a heart nearby, the soft exhales every minute or so. 

And yet as he rose, all was still. The only heartbeat he could hear was Roach’s. 

_No_.

There were footprints by Jaskier’s bedroll. Footprints that definitely didn’t belong to the bard. 

A small sign of a scuffle, overturned bags.

A note.

_Light House. Midnight._

_Or the bard’s last song will be sung as the crow rises._

Geralt had never ridden so fast in his long life. It was a long ride, but Roach never tired, never slowed. She probably knew something was wrong too. Smart girl.

He could feel his messy braid whipping in the wind, and it only furthered his drive. 

He had lost so much. His humanity, his old life and family, his childhood. 

His chance at a normal life.

He couldn’t lose Jaskier too. 

By the time they arrived at the old abandoned light house at the top of the cliff, it was almost midnight. He could hear at least three people inside, Jaskier and two others. The bard smelled healthy, but scared. 

His heartbeat was wild, and fast. But it was there. That was all that mattered. 

His only semblance of a plan was to kill everyone and save Jaskier. It was all he needed. 

When he entered the rickety, dark house, three pairs of eyes snapped up to look at him. Jaskier was tied to a chair, a bruise on his neck but looking otherwise fine.

The two men looked like Nilfgaardian soldiers, their swords drawn. One of them stood next to the bard, the other only a few feet away from the door. 

The first man was killed swiftly, barely a flick of Geralt’s wrist, and before he knew it, the man lay dead at his feet. The other instantly drew a dagger and held it to Jaskier’s heart.

“Not another step.” the soldier said, evidently believing himself to have the upper hand. Geralt made a show of slowly lowering his sword, a low growl starting in his throat. 

“ _Geralt-_ ” it was soft, but it was there. A reminder, that he was alive. He was more or less alright, at least for now.

“ _Jaskier_.”

What happened next was a nightmare. The soldier had apparently decided that he was going to die no matter what, and he had nothing left to lose. The dagger pierced Jaskiers chest, and all Geralt could do was lunge forward. 

He was too late. The guard fell instantly, his head falling to the floor. But Geralt only had eyes for his bard. 

He caught him as he slumped in the chair, cutting the rope binding him in seconds. Jaskier looked up, one last time. “Goodbye, my love.” His eyes closed, that gorgeous blue which had always reminded Geralt of the sea, of the life they could have lived. They never opened again.

  
  


There was nothing to be done. 

He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. 

* * *

+1 

Geralt of Rivia buried the bard ( _his bard)_ Jaskier by the sea. 

He rode for days without pause, his mind a never ending _all my fault all my fault_ , clutching the corpse of the one he had loved like a lifeline. 

They arrived at a field of flowers near the shore and Geralt _knew_. 

He laid the bard down softly in the grass as he dug, pausing to look back every few seconds. He looked so peaceful, Geralt had to remind himself that he wasn’t taking a nap. He wasn’t going to wake up. 

As he lowered Jaskier into the ground, a part of him broke. The tears fell, and he knelt next to the open grave. His bard was beautiful, even in death. 

It had been too soon. 

His hair was still in the messy and loose braid from… before. What would Jaskier say if he saw him like this? Probably something about stupid witchers ruining his hard work. 

( _All my fault all my fault allmyfault_ )

He covered up the grave, suddenly unable to look. He gathered the dandelions around them and sprinkled them on the earth. He still didn’t know what the bard’s obsession with the flower meant. He could have known, perhaps.

But they had been important to Jaskier, and so they were important to him. 

He reached for his hair, and looked at it. The silver locks were tangled and wavy, after having been in a braid for days. 

He felt numb, his breathing heavy and an ache in his heart he had not known before. Was this what it was like to be human? 

Mechanically he drew his sword. 

One by one, the locks of hair fell to the earth near his feet, until he was left with hair barely longer than his bard’s. 

The memories fell with them.

_Goodbye, Jaskier._

The Witcher turned and left. He didn't look back.

He never returned.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i hope this wasn't too confusing? shsjsj basically this was written as five endings to the interlude of dandelions and you can choose which one you like best. 
> 
> the last scene with geralt can happen after any of them, but fits best with the last one in my humble opinion. 
> 
> also im really sorry this is so short I tried
> 
> feel free to yell at me in the comments or on tumblr/twitter, im under the same user as here :)
> 
> thanks for reading!


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